


Ain't Talkin' 'Bout Love

by lforevermore



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Manhandling, POV Second Person, Rough Sex, Soulless Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-04
Updated: 2013-11-04
Packaged: 2017-12-31 11:07:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1030979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lforevermore/pseuds/lforevermore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by an Imagine on the Tumblr blog DirtySPNImagines.</p><p>"Imagine sex with Soulless!Sam. Imagine how rough, passionate, and desperate it would be. He would be so dominate and selfish, you wouldn’t even be able to walk the next day. I have a feeling he would also be really smug about it, wanting to leave marks all over you and make you scream so loud that it wakes up the entire motel floor."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ain't Talkin' 'Bout Love

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the Van Halen song of the same name. 
> 
> Sam is not exactly a nice guy in this.

You’re the first in the motel room, slamming the door behind you just to make a point. It’s satisfying to hear Sam swear and fumble for the key in the door, even if it’s only a few moments before he’s storming in after you and slamming it, again. You start unpacking your duffle, pointedly ignoring him – it’s not like the two of you haven’t had this fight before.

Sam came back from the Pit a changed man, and not always for the better.

“I told you not to get in the way,” he says. He sounds like he’s talking through clenched teeth, like he’s trying to control his temper. “I _told_ you that I had it under control, that it was _necessary_.”

“Don’t start with me, Sam.” You throw your balled-up pajama pants onto the bed, trying not to grit your teeth and give yourself a bigger headache.

“If you would just _listen_ to me-“

You swivel to face him. “I’m not gonna just blindly follow your orders just because you think you’re all that and a bag of chips. Our job is to _save_ people, not use them as _bait_ , and sure as hell not _sacrifice_ them!”

“I told you it was _necessary_!”

“Obviously it wasn’t!” You’d gotten them out, after all, but Sam couldn’t just celebrate the victory, no, he had to blow this up too. “What the hell would Dean think, Sam? Cause I can tell you right now that he wouldn’t even recognize you.”

“Don’t throw him at me.” Sam stalks across the room towards you. Something in the air is flickering between you, something like electricity. He stops before he reaches you, the angry tick in his jaw working. “Fuck this, I’m going out.” He grabs the keys to the Charger.

“Oh, please, you’re gonna go pick up a hooker.” And yeah, that stings a little, the fact that Sam feels like he has to go looking for sex and intimacy. Just another thing that’s changed over the years, changed between the two of you. You can see the look on Sam’s face, the anger that’s clouding his features, flashing his eyes dark, but you can’t stop. It’s like someone’s taken the wall down. “I’m not stupid, Sam. I’m just surprised that you’ve lost your touch. You’ve never had to pay for sex before.”

“ _Before_ , I had a regular outlet.” A strange look crosses Sam’s face, like realization dawning. “Unless you’re volunteering.”

Sam’s not the same man he was before. You don’t think he’d be so gentle with you anymore, take so much care.

You’ve always craved, always wondered.

“Maybe I am,” you say. “Maybe I’m sick of you spending our money on something you could be getting right here at home.”

Sam smiles, dimple flashing, but it’s darker than it used to be, an almost sinister shadow. He drops the Charger keys back on the table, tilts his head like he’s considering you, eyes dragging down your form until you want to wrap your flannel tighter around yourself, just in case he can see through the anger you’re wearing like a cloak.

You have a feeling that he can.

“I don’t think you have any idea what I’ve been paying for,” he says. He’s like a predator, the way he’s watching you, and when he starts stepping towards you, you have to resist the urge to back up. “I don’t think you know what I want.” Your heart’s hammering in your chest, and you can’t bite back the gasp when he yanks you closer by your belt loops, presses you flush against him until you can feel his erection straining against his own jeans.

“I think you’re bluffing,” he purrs, big hands slotting over your hips.

Sam’s always been so much bigger than you, even more so now that he’s been working out like it’s a religion. You press your hand against his chest, curl your fingers in his shirt. He’s got at least a foot on you, and you can’t help but shiver at the thought of him all around you, strength holding you to him.

“Funny. I think you’re the one bluffing,” you manage, even if it comes out a little breathless.

Sam smiles again. It’s not exactly reassuring.

“Take your shirt off,” he says, voice gone low and dark.

It’s a test, you think. “Make me,” you reply. God, your heart’s beating so fast.

Now Sam smiles with teeth and shoves you back on the bed. You hit the bed and bounce, and he settles above you, kneeling so he’s straddling your waist. His hands, big and strong, grab onto the collar of your button up and yank, sending buttons flying and exposing your breasts and stomach to the chilly motel air.

“I liked that shirt,” you sputter.

“I don’t care,” Sam replies, shoving both the button up and the flannel off your shoulders. “You want me to stay in, fine, I’ll stay in, but you sure as hell are gonna pick up the slack, sweetheart.”

“Oh, fuck, yes,” you say, hooking a leg behind his and scraping your nails down his back to pull at the hem of his shirt. Sam smirks, curling a hand around your wrist and pressing it to the bed. He leans down to drag his mouth up your throat, brushing your hair to the side and kissing the line of your jaw.

“This isn’t about you, honey,” he murmurs, breath hot against your pulse. “This isn’t about what you want.” He bites then, hard, and sucks, surprising a high, squealing moan out of you. Your hands find his hair as his finds your jaw, forcibly tilting your head to the side and exposing more of your neck to his teeth. Your heels dig into the bed and you’re not sure if the pain is too much or just enough, but before you can decide, he releases and licks the bite. “Though, hell, if you get off, good for you.”

Sam moves, shifting down to nip his way down your chest to take a nipple into his mouth, sucking before biting into the flesh next to it. Another sound escapes you, and you throw an arm over your mouth, trying to keep them in.

He gets your jeans unbuttoned, sitting back to yank them down your hips, along with your panties, and pull his shirt over his head. You sit up and strip your shirts off of your arms, watching him out of the corner of your eye as he pulls his own pants off as well, fishing in his duffle for something. You lay back on the bed to wait, watching him fully now, though you can feel the blush high on your cheeks.

“Roll over,” he says, glancing over at you. His eyes travel down your body, appreciatively.

“Make me,” you say again, voice coming a little stronger this time.

Sam’s eyes flash, and that predatory grin starts to show again. “I’ll admit,” he says, throwing a condom down onto the bed near your head. “I like this better than a hooker.”

“Now you’re just flattering me,” you mutter, rolling your eyes. You would say more, but Sam chooses that moment to come over and _make_ you roll over, flipping you easily. You only have a moment of being pressed against the mattress before he’s hauling you up to your hands and knees, all easy strength, because you’re sure as hell not fighting back.

His hands slide down your back, curling around your hips again briefly before dragging his big, calloused palms across your ass. His thumb traces down the cleft and you shiver, looking over your shoulder at him. Sam meets your eyes, dragging his thumb down between your legs to slide between your folds.

“Jesus,” Sam murmurs. He thumbs your clit. “You are _wet_ , fuck. You’re getting off on this, huh?” He slides a finger in, pumping slow at first, then faster and harder. He’s stretching you, though if he’s actually afraid of hurting you now, you’re not sure. He adds another finger and you whimper, biting your lip. “Fuck, I should make you beg for it… maybe tomorrow.”

Sam twists his fingers suddenly, drawing a choked off moan from you. He leans and bites you on the ass, twisting his fingers again. You drop your head, trying to cut off another noise, when he comes up suddenly, hand grasping your hair and pulling your head back up, drawing it back, exposing your neck.

“Don’t hide them from me,” he says. “I want to hear. I want the neighbors to hear, I want the whole fucking floor to hear. Understand?”

You nod as best you can, but he doesn’t let you go. “Yes, okay, fuck,” you finally say, and he releases your hair to give you a mocking pat on the cheek.

Sam grabs the condom as he sits back, ripping it open. You watch him slide it on, tongue darting out to wet your lips. You’re not prepared for him to manhandle you onto your back again, hands spreading your legs wide, and he slides between them. In one smooth motion, he lines up and thrusts home. It’s only when he slams your hand to the bed that you realize that you tried to cover another sound.

You were right when you thought he wouldn’t be gentle with you. He’s thrusting like he’s trying to fuck you through the bed, the sweet drag out and push back in making your eyes roll back in your head, your heels scramble for purchase on the bed. Sam’s murmuring dirty things into your ear, one hand holding your hips steady and the other sliding up your neck and into your hair.

“Can you come from this? Can you come on my cock, sweetheart?” Sam hisses in your ear, snapping his hips into you. “Fuck, I don’t even care.”

And that’s a lot hotter than it should be, Sam using you, using your body for his own pleasure. He bites down on the junction between your shoulder and your neck, and you yelp. He does it again and again, covering your neck in bites and hickeys, until the sharp pain starts to roll in and mix with the pleasure coursing through you.

Sam hauls you up with him as he sits back suddenly, both hands finding your hips and moving you up and down on his cock. The noises are coming from you now, loud and unhindered, mixing with the squeaking of the shitty motel bed and the wet sound of his cock in your cunt. He keeps drawing breathy, high-pitched moans out of you like he’s going for the gold, the pleasure washing over you in waves now. Your hands are all over his arms and shoulders, his neck, trying to somehow find something to cling to while still feeling the flex of his muscles.

He suddenly slams you down, grinding his dick into you, and you’re gone, losing it, clenching around him and yelling your release to the walls, the ceiling, whatever poor soul’s stuck rooming next to you. You jerk in Sam’s hold as you come, but he doesn’t stop. If anything, he’s thrusting even harder, close to coming as well, gripping you tighter and tighter until you’re sure there are gonna be bruises in the shape of his hands on your hips.

It’s a surprise when he suddenly pulls you off and pushes you back down onto the bed, almost frantic. It’s less of one when he strips the condom off and guides his cock to your mouth – you open willingly, but he doesn’t slide inside, fist working over his own erection, one hand sliding into your hair to hold your head in place.

He finally groans, slides the tip of his cock inside, and comes, hand tightening in your hair briefly. “Swallow,” he breathes. “Jesus fuck, swallow.”

When he pulls out, you drop your head back against the duvet, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You shiver a little, and he surprises you by leaning in to kiss you, all slow burn and dirty, licking the taste of himself from your mouth.

He’s the one who disposes of the condom. You crawl under the blankets while he does, shivering as the sweat dries on your skin, and he surprises you again by settling next to you, leaning over to click the lamp off on the side table. In the dark, his hands are just as sure, and he pulls you close.

“You know,” he says, lightly. “I don’t think I’m gonna need a hooker anymore.”


End file.
